A gruel-ing supper between Nadia and Sandevin

House Beavertail's refectory is warm and homey, paneled with polished wood and smelling of beeswax and lemon oil. Unlike much of Boarbristle's denizens, House Beavertail seems to care for comfort and quality more than Draconis' gaudy gilded tradition, Leontes' proud display of achievements and trophies, or Minerval's austerity-with-whimsical touches.

"It's not what I expected," you say.

Nadia laughs. "What, that you're not in a drafty, crumbling old pile? Shivering in cold and eating bread and water? Maybe you were thinking of Minerval."

Sandevin, the prefect who met you at the road yesterday, leans in from your other side. "Nadia is still glowing from the welcome feast last night," he says. "Shame you missed it."

Last night. Yesterday. You feel a chill echoing the Tarn's waters, and you shiver. Then you recall last night. Miss Wormwood. The chill is replaced with a hot blush and an uncomfortable tightness under the belt of your brown Beavertail robe. You cover your face in your open hands.

Sandevin laughs. "No, no, you have nothing to be ashamed about, Eric. You're rather the celebrated first-year, for your little trick getting ashore. You have every excuse, between that exhausting manifestation and the dip in the Tarn." He pats you on the back. "Buck up, you have nothing to worry about until you get called for dusting and polishing duty."

You raise your head. There is rather a lot of honey-toned, glowing wood, and not a speck of dust or shred of cobweb visible.

"Ah ha ha, not to worry," Sandevin says.

Nadia looks round. The expression on her face looks like she's trying not to be openly cross with a Prefect on the second day of term. Her fresh new robes fit her lithe form much better than the oversized hand-me-downs that dissolved into the Chilly Tarn yesterday.

Ting ting ting, comes a sound from the head of the room. There's a rustle from the tables as Beavertail's students look round.

It's your Head of House, Bertha Beeblossom, Boarbristle's Mistress of Scrolls. A round face with laugh lines, mounds of greying golden hair, a generous, matronly figure and a gold-trimmed brown robe adorned with floral embroidery and tailored to to flatter her hips, with a plunging neckline displaying the deep cleavage of her prodigious bust.

"Welcome, Beavertail," she says. "The first supper of term was for greeting our new students and celebrating the return of our community under our roof. The second supper, and once again every month, is dedicated to reflection unto the purpose of magic, as House Beavertail professes it: to use skill and power with wisdom to aid the needs of the world. And to help us recollect this purpose, our supper shall be simple, to remind us of those who are truly in need."

The Housemistress gives a verse of dedication and one of benediction, as tonight's supper attendants, drawn from the student body, file between the tables and bring out the food. It is simple, bowls of gruel, pitchers of milk and water, apples from the orchard. A fast-day meal. As is house custom, none may serve themselves.

Sandevin sets you up a serving. He bends to whisper in your ear. "If you're still in the common room at lights out, I have some more interesting food put by," he says.

It's your turn to serve Nadia. She smiles gently and doesn't make fun of your stammering or fumbling. Fortunately you don't spill anything.

Gruel, apples, milk and water make for a bland and simple supper, but you don't feel like you've been left hungry, at least. You wonder what other customs Beavertail has that might surprise you.

After supper, you and Nadia adjourn to a corner of the common room to read over the theory passages from Ms. Sterling's assignment from Enchantments class. Having a good-humoured partner helps you concentrate on the material.

"Eric, we have another hour before bedtime," Nadia says. "Would you like to find a practice room and go through some of the enchantments?"

You recall Sandevin's offer of more interesting food. You're not sure if you trust him, but maybe he wants to make amends or he's decided he likes you.

"Eric, what do you think?" Nadia asks. "You up for some practice tonight?"